The Pyro, the Sniper, and the NSA
by Rojas Walrus
Summary: Ed vowed that if one more rag headed punk-ass offered him a hit of coke, he was going to snap their neck. He had made a resolution to stay as far away from California in general, but thanks to one Olivier Armstrong, Edward was forced to break this vow.
1. Symphony of Destruction

**REVIEW POLICY****: ALL reviews are welcome. (Exception: Trollin'. Don' be Trollin') It doesn't matter if you say "Love it, update ASAP" or right a fuckin' novel about it (lengthy reviews are my most favorite) I want to hear your opinion: IF YOU FLAME, I WILL LOVE YOU as weird as that sounds (so long as you ain't trollin' as seen above). Any opinions, thoughts about it, comments on the AN's, Nit-picks, naggings, and generally anything that will say that I have a new message are uber appreciated. IF YOU DO NOT FINISH IT, THEN **_**PLEASE **_**TELL ME.**

**First off I'd like to say that I love Jason Bourne. Fuck James Bond, Bourne is a total Grade A Badass. Right below Clint Eastwood. Now, secondly I'd like to say that this idea came to me during a Bourne film, which is why I stated the first sentence, and not because I just wanted to express how awesome those movies were, despite it having nothing to do with anything (which is totally something I would do). Now, this is the Pilot (if you will) of a longer multi-chap fic. I'm not abandoning ROSE, for all of you who keep up with it, but this idea would give me no peace, so I had to go with it. If you like it, and you want to see it continued any time soon, Reviews are the way to get that (see: definition of a Pilot). **

**This will be a Romance/Action/Spy(Bourne tye of Spy) type thing, and of course, will be Royai. Also, this is set in modern day America.**

_Symphony of Destruction_

Checking to make sure that everything was in order, Roy's eyes scanned across the clipboard. The anticipation of the destruction coursed through his veins; this is what he lived for. Actually, that was becoming an increasingly accurate statement: ever since he had been double crossed, he had to abandon any semblance of a normal life. No family, no solid job, no permanent personal relationships. Nothing that could be used against him. No one they could kill.

But he liked this life. He liked his job. In the end, he basically did the same thing, but now the things he blew up didn't have people in them. He no longer had blood on his hands, so he wouldn't complain. It was almost worth what he had to give up. It was almost worth her.

_Come on, Roy, you don't need to think about that. Focus on the task at hand._

"So, Edward, Are we ready?" Roy looked at the man in the orange vest and hard hat who was talking to him, and handed back the clipboard.

"Looks alright to me, Jim. When are we detonating?"

"Around six. We still have to get the invites out, and announce it to the press. We're gunna have quite the audience." Roy felt the adrenaline in his body once again. Primitive as it was, nothing excited him like the prospect of 'big boom'.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll all welcome our blast coordinator, Edward Teach," blared Jim's voice over the megaphone, introducing him to his audience.

Roy stepped up to the raised platform, the conductor of his symphony of destruction. The music wouldn't be made up of chord progressions or harmonic scales, but the beauty of its resonance would be evident nonetheless.

He slipped on his ignition gloves, gloves that he claimed were a simple marketing ploy which was halfway accurate, and stood erect on the stand. The cold winter air bid at his open face, and the wind caught his black trench coat, whipping it to the side theatrically.

Suddenly, he lifted his left arm forward and snapped. As his three fingers met and separated, a radio signal was sent to a remote detonator, igniting the desired line of explosives. His left hand was used for low explosives, and everything was placed in order of succession. His first snap caused a wall of flames to appear on either side of the audiences perspective, leading down to the water, and ending in a large explosion of stacked powder kegs.

Pausing for effect, Roy took in the oohs and ahhs of the audience. He raised his left hand once more, igniting another grouping of low explosives, once again receiving a positive response from the audience. As he continued to ignite the barrels of gunpowder, he could almost hear his colleagues roll their eyes. It didn't surprise him; as a professional, these were mere parlor tricks. Useless fireworks to amuse the audience. But Roy was an Artist. This was a buildup, the raising action climbing up to the climactic Grande Finale.

Once more, after seven well-timed snaps, he ceased his actions and waited for the smoke to clear, building up tension and anticipation from the audience.

Lurching forward, Roy thrust raised his left up to the side of his head and clipped his fingers together, before quickly throwing his right arm and snapping his right hand's fingers. On cue with his left hand: flaming rocket flews up on both sides of the bridge, framing it in colorful resilience. On cue with his right: A shimmer of flashes rippled across the large metal structure, each individual packet of SEMTEX exploding in rapid succession of the one previous. The bridge seemed to stand for a prolonged second, waiting to release itself, waiting for Roy's permission, waiting as an orchestra waits on its maestro to release the fermata.

Then, slowly, gracefully, peacefully, catastrophically, the bridge collapsed upon itself, sinking into the depths of the murky abyss.

* * *

She surveyed the scene, a predator waiting to ambush its prey. They gave her a name. Edward Teach. _Why_ she was hunting him? That was somehing she couldn't be concerned with. Maybe he was a Chinese Spy. Maybe he had just gotten on somebody's dirt list. It didn't matter, because she wasn't the one killing him. She was simply the gun, and somebody else was pulling the trigger.

He was a nomad, this Teach. Going from city to city sporadically, he would show up for a half a day, and then drop off the grip again, not showing up for another couple of months between presentations. There were no pictures of him, no video feeds. Just articles and the occasional announcement of their implosions.

Finally, however, she had found him. She had been in Virginia drinking coffee when it was announced that they were performing the demolition of a bridge, not six hours later. From where she had been it took four hours to get to New York City, so she grabbed her equipment and made for the McPherson Square Station.

Six hours later, and she was now comfortably nested in a hilltop, out of sight and out of mind. Looking through the scope of her Walther WA2000, she eyed the man who was going up to stand on the high rise platform. If the articles she read in the newspaper were correct, then that was Teach. His back didn't provide enough of a distinguishing photo for her superiors to give a positive match, but orders were orders. She clicked the camera function on her scope and had the picture send to Fort Meade.

As she waited for the go-ahead, she eyed the back of Teaches head. That coal black hair. Dammit, why did it have to look so familiar? It wasn't him, of course. He was dead. It couldn't be him.

Her pocket buzzed, and she took her cellphone out.

1 New Message

She clicked the 'ok' button to read the message. The phone took a second to process the media of the message, and Riza waited with baited breath.

The screen showed a solid block of green. Seems her superiors took the phrase 'green-light' a bit literally this time.

She brought her rifle up to the man's head, and started to gently squeeze the trigger. Her finger didn't seem to be quite willing to follow through with the action, however. That hair. That damn black hair. She would, at least wait to get a look of his face before she would follow through, despite how irrational it was. He was dead. She had seen the car blow up with her own two eyes.

Suddenly the man whipped out his left arm and snapped. Her ears registered explosions and her eyes widened. No. It can't be him. He's dead. She saw his car blow up with her own two eyes. It was only after she repeated that to herself again that she realized her finger had removed itself from the trigger entirely, resting instinctively on the side of the rifle. She willed it back, but it would not move.

The man kept flinging his arms around wildly, skillfully, and every snap, every explosion made her realize more and more what she already knew. Finally, Roy threw- _Teach_ threw his right hand out and the bridge in front of them disintegrated into the water.

That hair. That snap. Those explosions. No. He's dead. It can't. Be. Him.

Slowly the man turned around, turned his face toward her, and her arms automatically pulled the gun up, pulled the gun as war away from _him_ as they could manage. That man. It was him. Roy Mustang was alive.

.

.

**_Chapter title attributed to MEGADEATH_**


	2. I Will Survive

**Okay, so I'm going to change the Genre to Romance/Crime. Why? The truth is I'm kindof diving into this a seeing where it will go. I have Ideas, and I trying to keep useless word waster chapter out, but the story is about to see a slight change in mood. In the end this is the result of my movie going habits. In all actuality I've been watching a lot of Guy Ritchie films lately, so you might see a heavy Ritchie influence in it.**

_I Will Survive_

The rain beat down on the roof of Riza's apartment expectantly. They had been stationed in Seattle to oversee an exchange of information between them and some Russian diplomat, and she had already followed through with her end of the deal.

She methodically broke down her rifle and cleaned it of its gunk. She had to get a good night's rest for the plane ride tomorrow. Usually when they did jobs together, she and Roy would operate under the guise of husband and wife, or otherwise as a couple, and they would clear out together. However, they had explicit orders to exit the city separately. She had simply been ordered to make sure than an exchange with a Russian ambassador didn't go sour, but she had no idea what Roy's job was.

Probably something dangerous. She wasn't worried about him, he was Roy Mustang after all, but she was always able to sleep better at night when she knew what he was doing. Or rather, when she could see what he was doing, and had the power to take out any possible threats toward him.

She couldn't help but be mildly amused with herself. She cared for him far too much. Those guises, the ones where they would play house together, they were purely situational. Platonic. An illusion that showed on the outside, but together, when they were alone together, they were professionals. The kisses that they shared in public were practical. Meant for passing on information or convincing others that they were not what they really were. Yet, and this is the part where she would start getting angry with herself, she would sometimes pretend that they weren't.

The gun. Yes, she was cleaning the gun. Concentrate on the gun and not the dreams she had when he would sweep her into his arms after barging into her apartment and- dammit. What was wrong with her tonight? Probably just worry, she reasoned. She hadn't seen him in a few days, and she could help but be worried for his safety. And she was tired. Not sleepy, the years in the Marine Corp Sniper program had taught her all sorts of fun little talents, including the ability to temper her need to sleep. But that didn't mean that a lack of sleep didn't affect her.

She heard boots thump at the entrance of her apartment, and she snapped out of her inward thoughts. Probably nothing, but for the most part people didn't stomp around at 0300 hours. She pulled out her Five seveN. Not the best pistol for home defense, but she would manage just fine. She brought the pistol to the ready as she heard the door being forced open. Who the hell…?

The swung open to real the midnight silhouette of the man who dominated her thoughts. She immediately lowered her pistol as he brushed past her and invade her house.

"Roy, what are you doing here?" He wasn't supposed to see her until they got back to HQ, and he defiantly wasn't supposed to compromise her location.

He turned to face her and she almost gasped. He looked terrible. His hair was in chaos, his coat was torn in multiple places and his face was marred with dirt and a long cut across his cheek.

"They set me up. Where's your refrigerator?" His face was set. He wasn't asking because he was hungry, he was asking for food to sustain himself. To give him necessary energy for whatever he was planning on doing.

The whole thing was a lot for Riza. They? Who the hell was 'They'?

"Roy, what happened? Your not supposed to be here." She was surprised when he about faced quickly and stared straight into her eyes.

"I was betrayed, Riza. I'm not supposed to be alive. Why do you think they didn't want us to meat up yet?" There was that they again. Perhaps it was obvious, but she was tired and a broken and bruised Roy had suddenly shown up at her door, so she figured she had a pretty damn good excuse.

"Who is 'They', Roy?" she asked, loudly.

"The Stars and Stripes, Uncle Sam, The United States of _fucking_ America, take your goddamned pick, Riza! I got fucked!" He was yelling at this point, which was understandable. She was just starting to comprehend what was happening, and her brain started to think about what they were going to do. "I need your car."

"What happened to yours?" She was perfectly willing to relinquish her car, she was just digging for information.

"I was set up by the United States Government, and escaped alive. Don't you think the first thing they'll look for is my car? Here, drink this." He handed her a glass of soda. She drank it, calming the nerves that he had gotten riled up.

"Of course. So, where are we going to go?"

"We? Hell no. you're going to stay here and call me in, Riza." She glared at him. He needed all the help he could get, and there was no way in hell she was going sic the NSA's attack dogs on him. "I need a friend on the inside. You need to maintain the trust you have with HQ so that you can slow them down." Bullshit. He just wanted her to stay out danger.

"Roy, you need someone to watch your back. You trust me don't you?" His features softened and he stepped closer to her.

"Riza, of course I trust you. I just… You weren't the one they want dead. You need to save yourself." As she thought. "The truth is," he pulled her closer to him, and kissed her. It wasn't the kiss that he had given her before, the kiss that didn't mean anything. No, this one definitely meant something. The kiss ended sooner than she would've liked."That I love you. I think I always have."

"And you think that'll convince me to give you up?"

"Not at all. I just thought you should know; this might be the last time I see you."

"I told you, I'm not leaving you so you go and get yourself killed." She never even acknowledged the kiss. It wasn't the importing thing right now. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't report my death to HQ and leave my post right now."

"Well, the drug that I slipped into your drink might be one." Shit. She should've known the bastard better than to trust him. Of course he would pull something like that. "Where are your keys?" She went to get them from her coat pocket, but she couldn't move her arms.

"If you hadn't drugged me, then I'd be able to give them to you, now wouldn't I?"

"If you had been willing to cooperate with me, then I wouldn't have had to drug you."

"You drugged me before you knew whether I would comply or not." It was getting harder to talk and she could feel a forced drowsiness start to overtake her.

"Well then I just know you too well then, Riza my love." He took far too much pleasure in saying that. She might take pleasure in hearing it, if her emotions weren't being suppressed.

"They're in my coat pocket. It's the blue '98 Buick out front." He started to raid her refrigerator for sustenance. When he had gotten an adequate amount of food he took the pistol she was wielding earlier and fired two shots. One was fired in a seemingly random direction, fired only to eject the shell which was purposefully moved to the side by his boot. Then next shot was fired after Roy placed the gun against his own arm. It only skimmed his flesh, but the purpose was to get his blood on the scene.

When he was done he bent over, at which point Riza had realized that she had fallen from the chair she sat at and was now laying on the floor, and placed her Five seveN into her hand. It would look like she had struggled and was subdued by the ever practical Roy Mustang. She would really have no chance than to follow through with the plan he had set up for her; by the time she woke up she would have just as hard a time finding him as the agency they worked for would.

She could hardly keep her eyes open. She saw Roy leaved her apartment and fought with her body to keep awake. The last thing she registered was a flash of bright light and the loud blast of plastic explosives before the drug she had taken forced her into the sleeps embrace.

* * *

Roy walked home in the cold winter air of New York. The day had been exhilarating, but exhausting. The would leave soon, the explosion marked not only the climax of his show, but also the climax of his stay; he and the company would prepare for the destruction of a structure for weeks, sometimes months before they would ignite they explosions, and then they would move to a new city in a new state for a new job. The next day he would be getting on a plane to Seattle, ahead of the rest of his company, but he couldn't afford to stick around.

Seattle. Yes, just about everything reminded him of her, but that city… That held special significance. How long ago had it been? Thirteen months and ten days. Probably Twenty Three hours, but hey? Who was keeping track?

He briefly wondered if she was still alive before expelling the thought from his mind. Of course she was still alive. This was Riza he was talking about. She was fricken' invincible. Besides, the thought of her mangled corpse lying there, riddled with bullets, her eyes just opened slowly, mouth sagging, spread out full eagle… No. that was too much to think about.

She probably didn't remember him. Well, at least as well as he remembered her. She never had loved him like he loved her, which was why he hadn't told her until it didn't really matter. He was like a brother to her, and he had always been satisfied with that. She was probably still working for the NSA, and had accepted the 'fact' that he was dead.

He opened the door to his apartment and Riza's scent filled his nostrils, sucking it in greedily. Or maybe she hadn't. His mind briefly mused that it was kind of pitiful that he could recognize her by her smell.

"I suppose you're here for me?" he said into the darkness of his apartment. Two men, one lanky and tall, the other much wider and about the same size as he, stepped out into a lighter area of the apartment.

"Are here we thought we were being all subtle. Looks like were gunna have to do this hard way." Roy turned to half look at them. His distaste for them was evident in his eyes.

"I'm not talking to you."

(thump)

"What the-"

(thump)

The woman he _was_ talking to emerged from the darkness and holstered her silenced pistol in favor of one that was unsuppressed. She walked up to him and pressed the gun to the base of his throat, pointing down to his heart.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't follow through with my assignment, _Edward Teach._" He looked directly into her eyes, but had a hard time making out any emotion in the them due to the poor lighting.

"Well, I have some soda in the fridge, and I still have some of the drugs I used on you the other night." He hoped that would be rewarded with a laugh, though it probably wouldn't.

_Smack_

It wasn't.

"Okay, so I suppose I kind of deserved that." She glared at him angrily.

"You came to my apartment in the middle of the night, claiming you were betrayed, drugged me, told me you loved me probably just to twist my emotions into something you could control, and then left, letting me believe you were dead. You deserved that and more, Roy Mustang." She believed he was dead? That was the intent, but when he found her in his apartment he had figured that it hadn't worked too well.

"If you thought I was dead, then why did you come looking for me?" He hoped to god that-

"I didn't come looking for you; I came looking for Edward Teach. I was sent to kill you, Roy." Now that was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen. He could see a haunted look in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before, and he suddenly understood why she was so upset.

"And you almost did," he concluded for her. She gave a slow nod, not able to say anything. His voice changed into a low whisper, and he pulled her into his arms in a brotherly embrace. "I'm so sorry."

They heard a moan come from the floor and immediately snapped out of the revere, and turned their attention to the two bodies on the ground. Two who, until previously, they thought were dead.

"These guys aren't Government; The Government thinks that you're dead." Good. So she took care of that, and bought them some time. "So what are they?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking. Do I have any enemies?" he asked himself. Wait there were those two brothers… "Or maybe not enemies. I think that your should've shot these people, Riza." She scoffed at him.

"They were threatening you, and I didn't know if they had guns or not. Don't put the blame on me. Who are they."

"Mafia." He said in a low tone. He more or less was hoping that she didn't hear him.

"Mafia? What have you been up too, Roy Mustang?"

.

.

_**Chapter Tile attributed to Gloria Gaynor**_


	3. Fuck the Police

**Okay, so I'll be completely honest. I wasn't exactly planning on writing much of anything once I got done with ROSE. Not that I was planning on NOT writing or anything, I just seriously questioned if my heart would be in it. It was when I finished it that I encountered a sudden realization. I felt lost. It sounds horribly cheesy and dorky, but it's the truth. I've been living my life one chapter at a time. It took a couple days to fully realize it, but I suddenly couldn't ponder how exactly the next scene would go down. So now I know that I have forever cursed myself: I can't go on living anymore without writing something. Luckily for you that means more fics.**

**Now, a little side note. I poured basically everything I had into ROSE. All the literary techniques, all the symbolism, all the themes, and the message of the story. You may have not picked up on them, but they were definitely there. All that being said, it wasn't exactly an upbeat story. This is not intended to be like that. I drafted this all out (in German class, lol) so now I have a basis to follow. You can probably look at a total of 10 chapters with an epilogue. I hope I do not disappoint. Oh, also you should probably reread the last chapter, at the very least, if you haven't already. Also note: I am in no way a conspiracy theorist (JFK killed himself!), but some of this makes for fun story lines. It may get a little, uh, weird? Just bare with it. Or not, I guess.**

"It's not that I want him dead, I just want him _here_." Boss Elric stared intently at the thug in front of him.

"Alive, I can do. What kind of condition are you expecting to receive him in?"

"Jeez, Breda, I don't give a crap. Any broken bones would be an inconvenience, sure, but so long as he gets here I'll be fine."

The thug, Heymans Breda, was a large man. Covered by his beige suit, chorded muscles wound up along his forearms which connected to bulging biceps. Apart from his obvious strength, the man was rather fat. A simple examination of his behavior at a baseball game could explain why. He ate more hot dogs than Babe Ruth himself and downed enough booze to make a college frat boy blush. Despite his alcoholic consummation, however, he managed to maintain a level head. He was smart, which was the reason Ed preferred to use him for a job over some of his other underlings.

"My accommodations?" Breda asked. His "accommodations" included a plane ticket, car keys to a planted vehicle, a gun, and an address. His gun was a Glock 23. The size of the gun made it as concealable as anything. The short barrel combined with the .45 ACP round made it kick like a democrat, but it was worth the tradeoff. Every second gun sold in America was a Glock. Police, civilians, military, you name it and they use Glocks.

"Your associate will have them." Associate? Breda hadn't realized that this was a two man job. "He'll be at the Lincoln memorial at 3:30."

A waiter came to their table and refilled Breda's empty coffee.

"Thank you, Sharon," he said with a nod. "Who's the partner?" he asked before taking a drink.

"Kimblee," Ed answered casually. Breda nearly spit his coffee out.

"You're kidding me, right?" The look on Ed's face told Breda that he wasn't. "I thought you wanted Mustang alive, boss. Kimblee's a loose cannon." The last time he did a job he had been left with two bodies on his hands, and one of them was a cop. "Boss, Oklahoma piggies are one thing, but I don't wanna have a run with DCPD." Breda looked meaningfully at Ed.

Ed contemplated the situation carefully as his mouth processed a couple bite of pancakes. On one hand he had already talked to Kimblee about the "incident" in Stillwater. Kimblee had behaved since then. It was still reasonable that Breda didn't want anything to do with him, especially when it was supposed to be a clean job. The problem was that Breda was sometimes a bit _too_ clean. And, of course, the problem with Roy Mustang. Kimblee specialized in explosives, which was important when targeting a demo man.

On the other hand, Kimblee was psychotic. Mostly Ed used him for hits. Given the advantages to disadvantages, Ed made his decision.

"Fuck the police. You're taking Kimblee, whether you want to or not. It'll be your job to keep him in check." Ed spoke with authority. Breda recognized his tone and backed down. The waiter came by and asked them if they wanted anything else to eat. Both Ed and Breda shook their heads and Ed had her put the breakfast on his tab before getting out of there seat and leaving the diner. From there they went their separate ways. Breda left for the Seattle-Tacoma Airport. Ed got in his Cadillac.

There was something about Cadillacs that rubbed Ed the right way. He still wasn't old enough to drive, legally at least, but he was still able to enjoy the comfort of the thick leather seats. He tapped his driver on the shoulder and told him to take him to his home before pulling out his cell phone and dialing a number he was all too familiar with. By the third ring he vaguely prayed that the call would go unanswered and he would just be able to leave a message.

By the _click_ of the phone, he knew that he would have no such luck.

"Los Angeles Armstrong Shipping Corporation, this is Olivier Armstrong." Ed cringed at his misfortune. She always had a way of making him feel like shit from the get go. Her curt tone oozed with masculine authority, laced with feminine control.

"Hello, Oliver. I was wondering if we could do business in the near future."

"Ed?" Edward grunted his affirmation. "If you want to do business, then why don't you go to a local outpost? You don't need t call me if you want a package delivered," she sneered through the line. She was buying time. Not seeing the threat in selling her that time, Ed played along.

"Alas, I cannot. You see, I haven't the foggiest where such an outpost would be. I knew that if I gave you a ring, then you'd be able to point me in the right direction."

"It shouldn't be too hard. Look to your left." Ed did as she asked. Slight chills were sent up his spinal column when he words rang true. "Now, what is it that you really want?"

_Actually, I have a business proposition that will leave you penniless and let me acquire your empire like an apple from a tree._

"Actually, I have business proposition. There's a little incident going down in Manhattan Bay. I need some hired hands to escort me down. I can make it worth your while."

"How much is 'worth my while'?"

"Five million." He could hear the room go silent on the other side of the phone, indicating that the phone had been on speaker and everyone had heard. That suited Ed just fine. He had just made her an offer she couldn't refuse, if he wanted to be cliché about it, and it had clearly made the desired effect.

He knew Olivier well enough, but more than that, he knew how she operated. She would accept the money and the job. What she wouldn't do was stand by the sidelines. Five million was enough money to raise the collective eyebrows of her and her associates. It meant that Ed wanted something so desperately that he was willing to drop that much money on something he could get for a fraction of the price. It also meant that it was something that was worth Olivier's time. She would show up to the party in order to "double cross" him, and he would be able to catch her off guard. _Deception is the basis of all warfare, _Ed thought to himself with a smile.

"You have my attention. When is the job happening?" _Fifty years ago_.

"I'll need the men for the whole of next month. Will that be a problem?"

It wasn't.

(PAGE BREAK)

Olivier clicked the speaker phone off and starred around the room. Her chapter presidents were all speechless by the phone call they had just received. She couldn't blame them. Five million dollars was a hell of a lot of money.

Somehow, however, she got the idea that the five million was pennies on the dollar compared to the prize that lay behind the curtain. A part of her told her that she shouldn't double cross Edward. He was just a boy, and she held a special, unspoken affection for him. Much like an older sister. A larger part of her, the greedy mob boss part, told her that this could be the sting of a lifetime. Besides, it would do good to teach Ed a thing or two about trust. The business they were in was nothing if not risky and trust only extended as far as mutual gain. He had been careless, and now he would pay the price.

Olivier dismissed her chapter presidents and started to plan. The first thing he would have to do was organize her thugs into a more militaristic manner. It seemed that they were about to become mercenaries, and they could do well to obtain the discipline. She had a few associates who were ex-drill sergeants, and they owed her a few favors anyway. Her men could use a little more training anyway.

After calling said drill sergeants, the next thing she had to do was to set the trap. She also had a man for that. Grabbing the phone, she dialed the number that belonged to a federal building. After going through the near bureaucratic process of the government phone lines, Olivier finally got a hold of her contact.

"This is Director King Bradley, and who do I owe this pleasure to?"

"Cut the bullshit, King. I know you tap our phone lines," Oliver replied curtly. She could almost hear the grin on the other line.

"How have you been, Olivier? It's been too long, truly." His deep voice spoke with the light one that he used to catch people off guard with. Where she would always deal with people cautiously, she would rarely touch this man with a ten foot pole. He would just as soon work with her as stab her in the back and get the credit for shutting her down. This was going to worth it, however. Plus, she knew his secret.

"Do you know who Edward Elric is?" she asked

Thousands of miles away, a light went off in King Bradley's head. The name Elric was connected to the Mustang case. The case file was fresh in his mind, and he had it labeled as a high priority for his small division.

"The name sounds vaguely familiar." In his business the phrase "vaguely familiar" roughly translated to "that depends on what you want". He searched his desk cabinets for the paperwork while still on the phone.

"Well, Edward Elric just offered me two million dollars," _which means four million dollars_, "for a job that should have been less than a hundred grand," _which means around hundred thousand_. Bradley had never shied away from using crime organizations in his line of work. It gave an edge over his familiars, although if the fact ever broke out he would be arrested and thrown in prison. Because of his experience, he understood the ins and outs of The Business. That wasn't to say that he worked for them, or that he was in their pocket. If anything, they were in his pocket.

And, of course, he had betrayed his NSA on more than one occasion. As popular as he was in Washington, he had no loyalty to his country. His dedication was to his Fatherland and his Fuhrer. A closet Nazi, he masked his beliefs and heritage well with a kind smile and a warm handshake. King Bradley was the secret son of Adolf Hitler. According to history he did not exist. This had made it possible for the men who raised him to plant him into the infrastructure of the National Security Agency. From the NSA he had risen through the ranks and was eventually placed at the head of Internal Affairs. From there he was given an almost unlimited amount of security clearance.

In his time spent pouring over weapons development he had stumbled upon the Philadelphia Experiment. It had been an accidental discovery while looking into pykrete aircraft carriers, as he had never even considered the possibility of the Philadelphia Experiment being anything other than myth. The NSA case files, however, said differently. According to the files, which were practically coated in red tape, Philadelphia had not only happened, but had been wildly successful.

The Philadelphia Experiment was a somewhat prominent conspiracy in American war history. In World War Two the American government had undergone many top secret military projects. Whereas the Manhattan Project was the most notable, chiefly because it was the one put into action, the Philadelphia Project was an experiment in cloaking devices. The supposed conspiracy of the experiment was that they had been testing Einstein's unified electron theory. The project it happened under was Project Rainbow, and was designed to create an electromagnetic field around a destroyer escort that would bend light around the ship, thus making it invisible. According to myth, a green fog had enveloped the area and _Eldridge, _the destroyer escort, had disappeared. The crew was reported to have severe nausea, and several of them had body parts embedded into the hull of the ship. Further than that, the ship had reportedly gone back in time for about ten seconds.

The conspiracy was unbelievable, in every sense of the word. The case files in the annuls of the NSA actually told a different story, though it was just as unbelievable. According to the NSA, time travel had happened, though it had been to the future, and not the past. There was also no body parts embedded in the hull, as in the conspiracy. Instead, the ship ad returned blown to hell, mangled and black from a large explosion. The theory that the NSA scientists had offered was that the energy release form forward time travel was so vast that it had nearly destroyed _Eldridge_. Backward time travel, however, had not exerted the same release of energy, as the worm hole had already been opened.

He would have dismissed the whole thing immediately if he hadn't discovered it in the NSA itself. Suddenly, rather than schoolboy fantasies, it became a historical fact. It had also become a plan. When he ran the numbers through his mathematicians, they had come up with a date, and even a time, for _Eldridge_ to appear in the Philadelphia Shipyard, a gift from over fifty years ago. It would reside there for about an hour before entering the wormhole once again. He had spent the past years gathering old high priority documents that had the information from major weapons developments with the intent of bringing them back to his father and Fuhrer. The crown jewel of his cache was the experimental data from the Manhattan Project.

Finally, Bradley located the Mustang file on his desk. Shuffling through it, he found Elric's name.

"So what does this have to with me?" he asked nonchalantly.

"I need a wire tap on Elric, and I'm willing to split the two million." she said. Bradley was amused at her unneeded secrecy. At this point, money held no value to him. The job, however, held a special interest to him. He already had Elric's lines tapped, according to the form he held, but he still knew little about him. He also didn't mind the Armstrong Syndicate being indebted to him.

"I'll do it. I don't need the money." The line stood silent for a moment.

Olivier wasn't quite sure what she was getting herself into, but the offer was entirely too tempting. She accepted Bradley's help and hung up the phone, satisfied with the day's events. If she was correct about Ed, then this could possibly the most profitable job in her criminal career.

She ran her thumb across the edge of her ceremonial saber. Alone in her board room, the sword clashed with the business atmosphere she operated in and her black pant-suit. She enjoyed the misplacement of it. She had bathed the sword in the blood of her enemies on more than one occasion, and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Killing wasn't something she necessarily enjoyed, but in her business one couldn't be hesitant. That was something that the Elric boys hadn't seemed to grasp.

_Perhaps,_ she thought, _they might learn to what it takes to make it in this world_. With that thought she sheathed her saber and left for the elevator.

"_**Fuck the Police" is copyrighted to N.W.A. (Niggers With an Attitude) and Death Row Labels.**_


	4. Welcome to the Jungle

**So, this gets rather fluffy. My apologies if you're not into that kindof thing.**

Roy woke up to waves of golden hair tucked beneath his chin. His arms were wrapped snuggly around the waist of a feminine figure, and the familiar scent of soap and gunpowder drifted into his nose. The gentle movement of her lungs taking in oxygen made her breasts press firmly against his chest.

Roy approved.

Knowing that Riza wasn't exactly happy with him, he decided it would be prudent of him to enjoy his limited time with her in his arms. She looked amazingly peaceful. The air that escaped her nose as she purred blew the hair that ventured bravely to the front of her face. A shifting noise came from the duffle bag in their hotels closet. Roy ignored it, letting the man stay tired up in favor of more pleasurable company.

The man who lay tied up within a duffle bag was the one of two goons sent by the "Boss Elric Brothers" that Riza hadn't killed the night before in Washington. Because of her itchy trigger finger, and the devastating small round of the Five seveN that she still used, he had ended up with a badly wounded Zwolf Kimblee and a dead Heymans Breda. They had dumped the body into Potomac before placing tourniquets on his limbs, chopping him into manageable pieces, and wrapping the leftovers in chicken wire so they would sink. It was a time consuming and gruesome task, but they were able to do it in an efficient and professional manner.

To some it would seem brutal and haunting, but they were used to taking care of bodies. It wasn't something that either enjoyed, but it needed to be done. They didn't lose any sleep over it, either. Seeing as they had just killed one the Elric's thugs, however, Roy had to cancel his itinerary to Seattle and take the Metro up to New York. Alphonse Elric operated in Queens, and Roy knew that he needed to clear his name.

They had shoved Kimblee into a bag after knocking him out and binding him so that they could pay cash for a cheap motel and still be subtle about it. After that they hadn't even bothered and attempt at taking nightshifts, because they were both worn out. There was a time, back when Roy was a Captain in the United States Army Rangers, that he would have been horrified at the blatant disregard of Ranger Law. That had been a long time ago, however, and the small amount of baby fat building up on his body was proof enough of that. A year on the run had if anything made him a bit more lax. He hadn't even been found, to his knowledge, until the previous night.

Riza stirred a bit and her hair shifted so that it flowed in a stream down her neck. He was tempted to risk several slaps to the face by trying to ease her out of the shirt she was in, but resisted. He knew that he could be a tad chauvinist, but it wasn't like he couldn't restrain himself. For now, he was happy with what he had. The peaceful breathing shifted and Roy could tell she was awaking, so he quickly shut his eyes in an attempt to feign sleep.

When Riza awoke, she was unusually drowsy. Where she would normally be at one hundred percent, she was now so exhausted that she could barely open her eyes. The previous night had been anything but uneventful, and Riza saw no reason to remove herself from the comfortable mass of heat that she was pressed against. She couldn't remember the last time it had felt so good to stay in bed. It certainly hadn't been in the past year. Most of the sleep she had scraped out had been in the middle of the day, and none of it had been accompanied by the warm pillow that she had latched onto.

She ran that last thought through her mind. The thought of a big warm pillow seemed rather foreign to her. There was something she was missing. After forcing her overweight eyelids open she was rewarded with the sight of Roy. That was new. Not exactly unwelcome, either. As much as she would have liked to snuggle up closer to him, she knew that it would be awkward if he woke up to find her like that. Instead she busied herself by trying to wedge herself out of his grip.

"Roy, let go of me," she asked calmly and politely. It didn't work. She hadn't really expected it to, either. Sighing, she tried pulling his arms off of her waist before ultimately giving up. After trying various other methods, none of which came close to working, she huffed in annoyance. Much to her chagrin, she saw Roy's mouth twist into a tight smirk.

"Giving up, my darling?" Roy's eyes opened slightly to see her reaction.

"How long have you been up?"

"Quite a while. You just look so peaceful when you're asleep." For some reason, his response didn't surprise her.

"Could you let me go then, now that I'm conscious? It helps to have free arms while I beat you to death."

"Sounds kinky, but no." To her frustration her face flushed with color. "You're cute when your face turns that color, you know."

"I don't need my hands. It just helps," she said crossly.

"What do you mean by tha-" His smirk instantly evaporated as she brought her knee to his groin. His arms went slack and she climbed out of the bed triumphantly. Already dressed, she walked into the half-bathroom and started to tame her hair into submission. Every wince he made brought a smile to her face. "Damnit, woman, do you know how much that hurts!"

"Perhaps you wouldn't be in this situation if you had released me the first time I asked." His silence made her smile turn even bigger. Placing her now smooth hair into a clip, she walked back into the main room and was about to made another snide comment before being interrupted by a disembodied muffled groan. Both she and Roy starred at each other before the light came on.

"Kimblee," he announced. Riza nodded.

Kimblee looked terrible, which was expected. His fancy white suit was stained with the brown of old blood around the area that Riza shot him. It had been a gift of mercy that Riza had shot him with a 5.7mm slug, as the small steel core round had passed straight through his body. Unfortunately for Breda, and for the both of them, the round the passed through the large man's solar plexus. The bullet had already been brought down to sub-sonic speeds by the suppressor, causing it to tumble after hitting bone. He hadn't stood a chance. Lucky for Kimblee, the shot hadn't hit any bones or vital organs. Although, bullet wounds were never exactly good for one's health.

The fact that they had shoved the already injured man in a sack and tossed him around rather carelessly hadn't exactly helped the poor man's condition. The fact that he was conscious was a miracle.

"I presume you're working for the Elric Brothers," Roy asked, beginning the interrogation.

(PAGE BREAK)

"You should've let me kill him in the hotel," Roy stated bitterly. They hadn't talked to each other at all on the metro because of the people around them, but now that they were on the street they could be more open. The plan had been to walk him quietly to Elric's base of operation. That had been scratched in favor of shoving him back into the bag they used to get him to the hotel. Draining information was more or less a common practice in the line of work they did. Both of them could tell when an untrained man was lying and one never knew when a prisoner was withholding a tasty bit of information from his captors. Such as the case with Kimblee.

"Perhaps you should have," Riza said shortly. The pointed glare she gave Roy portrayed a lot more than her statement. She had wanted kill the man himself, but that would be inefficient and pointless. In all the many years she had worked with him, she had learned that he was had a certain flamboyancy to his actions. The bridge he took down had been proof of that enough. That being said, he held a certain leap-before-you-think mentality. "But if you killed him there, do you really think Mr. Elric would believe our story?" A kick to the bag that held Kimblee punctuated her statement.

Roy knew what she said was true. If the woman beside him wasn't there he would've died from his own stupidity a long time ago. Without her, he felt like a blind man without his cane.

In ten minutes Roy and Riza stood in front of an unmarked building. The part of town didn't exactly stink of underground, but Mafia buildings never did. Poverty ridden streets and alleys were the territory of pimps and street gangs; the bottom rung of the crime ladder. The Elrics, however, were the supplies. Street gangsters tended to have a lot of money on hand, but it was typically deceptively large. The real money was made by the suppliers. And the real money was used to buy property on the nice parts of town and suits that most would never be able to afford.

The Elrics were not men to be trifled with, but they preferred to keep their hands clean when possible. It was for this reason why Roy dealt with them exclusively. Roy knocked on the door.

A large man surrounded by two even larger men opened the door. He took one look at Roy and nodded his head.

"Edward Teach. Come right in. And you might be…?"

"Anne Bonny," Riza responded quickly. "I'm Mr. Teaches fiancée." The large man nodded approvingly and escorted the two through a corridor and a staircase before opening a door to a lobby room. To the man's invitation, Roy and Riza walked in and sat down, placing Kimblee to the side of their feet. Their escort then left after informing them that they'd be buzzed in.

"Roy, you don't think we're walking into a trap, do you?" The concern was clear on Riza's face. She realized that they didn't have many options between the two of them, but this seemed a bit drastic. She also realized that this was her fault. She felt terrible about the situation though she would never admit it to Roy. If she hadn't shot the two men then could avoid dealing with the Elric brothers altogether.

"Of course not. I know these boys." Actually, Roy knew one of the boys. He had never dealt with Alphonse before. "I know them to be reasonable."

Riza didn't seem to be convinced, but the bell rang before she had a chance to respond. As they opened the large oak door they were greeted by a huge blue-steel suit of armor. It towered above the both of them.

"Impressive isn't it? Personally I find it a bit gaudy. Ed has the worst taste imaginable." The young voice came from the side of the room and the two felt slightly embarrassed about gawking at the armor. When Riza saw the child in the three piece suit, she had to remind herself of what Roy had told her. This boy may be young, fourteen even, but he was as professional as they came. Looks were deceiving indeed, and the boy more than likely used that to his advantage. "Where is your beard?" The question confused Riza, but Roy didn't miss a beat.

"Alas, I was not gifted with the facial hair that should have come with the name."

"Indeed. Well, let's see what you have," he demanded, motioning to the sack. Roy undid the zipper and the man housed in it spilled out.

"This," he started, motioning to the man. "Is Zwolf Kimblee." Roy then proceeded to explain the situation up to their morning interrogation.

The whole time Alphonse sat there, nodding quietly. It was all going very well. Their problems had started with Alphonse asking them to take a seat.

"You're making me nervous. Why don't the both of you sit down?" asked Alphonse Elric. Roy thanked Al and pulled a seat up for Riza before bending into the chair himself.

"It's standard procedure for us to 'debrief' anyone we come into direct contact with. Usually nothing special happens, but there is a reason that we do it. Kimblee Is a shining example of why."

_Twelve Hours Earlier_

Roy stood above the man who was tied to the chair. Kimblee looked up to him like a convict. They looked at each other in silence for a minute before Roy started asking questions.

"The two of you are working for the Government, no?" He knew that they weren't, but it helped to detect lies when one knew the truth. From there one could pick up on the tells that each prisoner had and thus identify when they were lying at a later time. An effective interrogation worked much like a game of poker.

"Where am I-?" Kimblee asked before being cut off by Roy's hand.

"Answer the question, damnit!"Roy's eyes were filled with false rage. Kimblee coughed.

"Yes, we were. We are, or were in Heyman's case, work for the IRS. We were just coming for an inspection." Roy looked hard into Kimblee's eyes. He then slapped Kimblee across the face again.

"I thought I told you not to lie. Do not underestimate me, Mr. Kimblee." Roy folded his arms and stared him directly in the eyes. "Once again, who do you work for?" Several questions and one punch later, Roy deemed Kimblee as acceptable. He wrote a note on his procedures for Riza and left the room.

Riza was standing directly outside of the hotel room.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"Everything checked out. My order of my questions is on the table, so whenever you're ready."

Riza waited for five minutes before entering the room. It started out the same as his, with the known lie, but it would be a different one than his. The idea was to prevent error. About thirty minutes in, however, Roy heard something much different than what he was expecting. A lot more slaps and a lot more screams emanated from the room. He was getting awfully curious about the proceedings, and was tempted to walk in himself. The temptation was cut off when Riza herself came out of the room and looked him straight in the eyes.

"You made a mistake, Roy." She was angry, and Roy was a little scarred by her tone of voice. "Get in here." He followed like a dog and found himself staring Kimblee once again. "Ask your first question again," Riza demanded. It took a moment for Roy to think back.

"Umm, right. Who are you working for?"

"The Elrics. I already FUCKING told you!" Kimblee spat out. Along with the words came a spray of red mist. At his statement Roy saw his mistake. Since it had been his first question Roy had taken that answer as a truth. He could now see that it was not. _That's why we do this in pairs_, Roy thought bitterly. Riza slapped him and yelled at him again.

"I told, stop lying to me! What were you sent here to do?" Riza shrieked. She was a different person, and it actually scared Roy a bit. He knew that this was just the role that the Agency had drilled into her, just as they had to him, but it didn't make it any less discomforting.

Kimblee spit at the ground and smiled largely.

"I was sent here…" He took a large breath, even though he was already gasping for air. "…to kill Agent Mustang." The Sentence literally took the air for Roy's lungs. Before he had the chance to question the man further, Riza knocked him out with an pistol whip.

_Twelve Hours Later_

Alphonse looked at the two calculatingly. When he spoke he chose his words carefully.

"That is quite a story," he said. "I don't know anything about this man, other than the fact that he is under my employ. If you are telling the truth, then I'm wrong about even that."

"As field agents, we're trained extensively to separate truth from lies. Everything we said is truth." Roy maintained eye contact with Alphonse. His words were chosen just as carefully as the boy's.

Alphonse sat for a moment, pondering his options. At long last he stood up with intent and walked over to the limp body on the floor.

"You. Ms. Bonny," he demanded as he reached his hand toward her. "Hand me the pistol you've snuck in here. I'm going to dispose of this filth."

Surprised at his good eye, Riza retrieved her concealed Five-seveN that she kept on her person at all times. Normally she wouldn't have relinquished it so easily, but at the moment nothing short of the booming voice of God outranked the mob boss in his own complex. Pistol in hand Alphonse brought the sights to Kimblee's head.

Then, he surprised Riza by turning the gun on them.

"As I said, that is quite a story, Mr. Teach. But it has too many holes for my liking. First of all, I don't even know who you are. Edward made a small not in my database about an Edward Teach, but are you really him? And Ms. Bonny. Edward made no mention of you. Ever. So here we have Blackbeard and the Lady Pirate, which is adorably cute I must say, trying to tell me that MY man, who, by the way, carries a lot more merit than the two of you, is a traitor!" His voice was firm and his grip on the pistol was even more so. "I should kill you both on the spot."

.

.

_**Chapter title attributed to Guns and Roses**_


	5. Square Dance

**My compy is running REALLY slowly right now for some reason. Like, the words aren't showing up as I type them, slowly. It's pretty bad. And my Xbox live is broken, for whatever reason. Sad face for the Walrus :C=**

**Okay, so obviously it's been a while. I have excuses. First, I just got done with finals. Reasonably, I was bit freaked out (for German. Not much else). Then my computer went down. Suck. That ^ up there was written a long time ago. Then I was playing Gears of War 2 (Hoard) with a couple of friends and a brother-in-law, so I couldn't do It yesterday, and now I'm really rusty, so please tell me if it sucks. (It probably does gloom gloom.) IT IS YOUR PLACE TO TELL ME, DAMNIT!**

**.**

Square Dance

"I don't keep my guns loaded," Riza said casually. Roy knew that to be a lie, but their nonverbal communication kicked in. Riza was trying to buy time, a second even, for Roy to exploit. Ideality, Al would balk and Roy would lunge. Al was a child, and Roy was a former Ranger. Hell, Riza was a Marine. They had discipline, and Al most likely did not.

This theory was proven wrong when Al casually pointed the gun to Riza's shoulder and ejected a shell.

"Cute," he said with a smirk.

Roy barely heard anything. On the outside he was still calm and collected, but on the inside there was a hurricane. Riza was on the ground, gasping. He had no idea how bad the wound was. It took a second to compose himself and analyze his situation. It was a matter of pushing his feelings for the writhing woman on the ground to the back of his mind. Once he did however, he started to take in the details. A man stood before them holding a gun, and an unknown number of guards stood between him and the exit. Whereas he had a valuable asset a few seconds earlier, he now had a hefty liability. Leaving Riza behind wasn't even an option.

"Now that the two of you will stay here for a while, I suggest you listen closely I- GAH!" Al's words were cut short by a yelp as he fell to the ground. Riza, in her pain, had lashed out with a knife and cut the tendons on Al's ankles. In response, Al was lowered to Riza's level, and the only thing on his mind was the pain in his foot. They had to act quickly. With Roy's help Riza got to her feet after retrieving her gun and aimed her weapon to the young man's head.

"Wait!"

Riza glared at him questioningly.

"We don't want to be on the Elric's bad side." Riza held her glare.

"I just slashed his heel. I think were already on their bad side."

"An eye for an eye," Roy reasoned. Riza shrugged. The movement nearly dropped her to the ground again. "Are all right?"

"I was Force Recon, Roy. This is nothing." Roy nodded and opened the door to the outside lobby. Two large guards stood with their backs facing Roy. He had been wondering whether this had been a good choice up to the point of seeing them. They had heard a gunshot and screams, and still stood perfectly calm. They had been expecting those sounds.

With the reassurance that they hadn't made a mistake and the confidence of an NSA operative, Roy grabbed the head of the guard closest to the wall. The thrust against the oak was quick and powerful. The body went limp. If the two had been more alert, the other guard would have been a problem. Instead, the momentary flinch granted Roy the time he needed to chop his arm around his neck. With his other hand he grabbed the arm around the guard's neck to secure the loop. Immediately he stared to walk back, choking the guard silently with the weight of his own body.

Riza walked into the lobby slowly and declared the room clear.

Riza was completely ignoring her still bleeding wound. Her left arm hung limply at her side, and her movements were somewhat slower, but she was otherwise unhindered. Roy briefly wondered how long so could go on like that, but there wasn't time to treat the wound. Not yet, anyway.

They didn't run into any guards until they arrived at the exit, but it was far enough from Alphonse's office for the noise of the gun to have been completely dissipated in the soundproof walls. At least, Roy hoped they were soundproof. Riza's blood wasn't showing up on her tight black shirt. It was with great fortune that Riza had had the clairvoyance to wear combat ready clothes. Though, he supposed, she did have a tendency dress with a mind to practicality. Even her fancy dresses had areas to hold subtle pistols.

Roy and Riza walked out of the complex in full view of the guards without an over shoulder glance.

As they edged the corner, Riza relaxed from her stiff stance and fell momentarily to her knees. She was gasping for oxygen.

"Riza, we need to get you to a hospital."

"Don't be an idiot, sir. I've gone through worse." She gritted her teeth and rose from the ground. Roy could tell that she was in no shape to move around like was, but she was right. They couldn't check into a hospital at risk of being found by the Government. Their fingerprints would bring up an alert, and Bradley's operatives would find them in a matter of minutes.

He would have to treat her wounds at a later time, but for now they had to get far away as fast as possible.

"How much longer can you operate?"

"Marcus Luttrell crawled seven miles through a god-forsaken desert with a concussion, three broken vertebrae, and a leg full of shrapnel. I'll manage to the end of the day."

"Luttrell was a Navy SEAL."

"I told you, Roy, I'm Force Recon. We use SEALs as cannon fodder."

Roy almost gave up and continued his search for a ride. He was rewarded with a beat-to-hell Geo Metro. Not exactly a luxury sedan, but he could hot-wire it with relative ease. Plus, he momentarily joked with himself, nobody was going to miss it.

In less than five minutes Roy and a hyperventilating Riza were inside the Metro and down the streets of New York. The traffic had been terrifying, but the car paid off once they hit the outskirts and later the highway. It wasn't too long before they were moving away from their adversaries at a decent rate. The distance they set did not give Roy a chance to settle down. Now that the immediate threat was out of mind, he allowed himself to be concerned with Riza.

Riza's condition was not improving. Since she was not moving her energy was not being depleted as rapidly as it had when they were escaping, but the adrenaline had long worn off. She was leaning against the chair and she was exhausted. The blood was still leaking out of her body despite her hand that was clasped around the wound. Roy could tell that despite everything she said about being a hard ass marine, she was in serious danger.

By the time they turned onto I-80, Roy could tell that Riza wouldn't be able to make it all the way through the night without getting attention. He didn't have the supplies to take of her, but he could manage with what he had on him.

They pulled over to the side and he put the car in park. Staying in the car, he looked her firmly in the eyes. "Riza," he said, "I'm going to take your shirt off."

"Do you really think this is the time for that?" she slurred weakly. He starred at her blankly while processing her words. After a moment it occurred to him that it was her attempt at a joke and he smiled in support.

The black shirt was wet and taking it off caused the red fluid spilled all over Roy, Riza, and the chair. The bullet had passed through the area connecting her breast to her shoulder. It made the wound difficult to address, and Roy was no field medic. Nonetheless, he found a jacket in the back of the metro and used it to temporarily bind her wound after cleaning off the excess blood. It wasn't much of anything, but all he need was something to tie it off until they could reach better accommodations.

"Hang in there, Riza. I have a friend who runs hospital in Salt Lake. You just need to hang on until then, okay?" Roy dearly wished that there was somewhere closer, but he couldn't think of anything or anyone. If they drove constantly and ignored traffic laws they could get there in a couple days, but he didn't know if that would be fast enough.

Once they got there, he knew that they would be safe. Maes could be trusted, and Roy had been very careful to keep him separate from all of the less desirable parts of his life.

"Roy?" Riza whispered as he fiddled with the improvised ignition.

"Yeah, Riza?"

"I love you."

He paused for a moment. As he started to respond, he saw that she had fallen asleep. Roy took a deep breath and starred out of the windshield at the bright sun. After a moment to regain his temperament, he went back to hotwiring the car.

After a few tries the engine ignited. He turned the car into gear, but as soon as he started to drive, the car sputtered and died. _Shit. _As if to squeeze lemon juice into his wounds, a loud bang sounded from the engine and smoke started to roll out from under the hood.

_Damn Geo._

"She thinks my TRACTOR'S SEXXX-AYYY!" One of the many advantages to riding alone was that Jean didn't have to worry about embarrassing himself. The only living thing in his Ford with him was Trisha, his pet Sloth, and there was no way she was going to roll her eyes at him. He was free to belt out half-known lyrics at the county music on the radio to his heart's content.

"It really TURNS her ON! She's always starin' at ME! When I'm CHUGGIN' ALON- holy SHIT!" Jean swerved off the road into countryside. In his carelessness he had nearly plowed into two hitch hikers on the side of the road. His truck came to a stop and he sat in his seat, breathing air back into his lungs. After praying thanks to God for making him look up in time, Jean got out of the truck and went to look at the people he had nearly just killed.

From the slight distance, he could tell there were two people, presumably a man and a woman. The blond hair woman was supporting herself on the black haired man, and Jean worried that he _had_ hit them. _Shit, Jean, you've outdone yourself this time, _he thought to himself as he jogged closer. "Hey, are the two of you okay?" he asked them once he was close enough

"We're trying to get to Utah." The black haired man spoke with less of a sense of urgency than fit his image. A closer inspection showed that his shirt was covered in blood and the woman he was supporting looked as if he had been shot. "Our car broke down a mile or so back, and we don't have the tools to fix it.

"So I didn't hit you?" The man shook his head. A large pressure on Jean's chest was lifted. "Hey, y'all look like you could use a bandaid or somethun'. I have a med pack in my truck, if you could use it."

The man's eyes lit up. He looked to Jean like he would his Savior.

"Riza took a bullet in the shoulder. How big is the med pack?"

Jean noted wryly that he had guessed correctly about her state of injury. He also noted that a bullet wound would take a little more than a band-aid.

Over the next thirty minutes Jean found that he was very grateful toward his mother for teaching him the importance of medicinal preparedness. Boy scouts never taught him how to treat a bullet wound. He was uttering prayers of thanks that he had spent the extra eighty bucks on the deluxe Red Cross first aid kit, rather than getting the carton of Camels that had been tempting him so.

By the time they were finished, the injured woman- Riza- was wrapped up tightly and relaxing after having the hole n her body cleansed and treated. She had never cried in pain, or even growled, but Jean knew from experience that rubbing alcohol wasn't exactly comforting even if it was necessary.

For the first time Jean took in the man he had been working with. Black hair sat atop an American face- with just a little Japanese thrown in- and black eyes. Most likely contacts. A card player perhaps? That would explain the hole in the woman. The man was quite a bit shorter than he was himself, but still a decent height. _And he dresses to kill._ Inwardly he laughed a little at the small joke. Extending his hand, they clasped firmly.

"M'names Jean Havoc. You said you were tryin' to get to Utah?"

Roy nodded at the man who was now leaning against his truck and striking at a cigarette. Roy identified him as a Texan before he had a chance to declare that he "wasn't from 'round these parts."

"I'm not from 'round these parts, but I know the roads just as well as anyone."

"All we need is a ride to the next closest city. We buy a car from there. If you wouldn't mind, that is."

Jean looked at the man through limp eyes and a column of smoke. The man was kind enough, but he was all business. His words were not wasted and his voice was to the point. He spoke like a man, not like a pussy-footed liberal who cared more about saving whales than a human life. Jean took an instant liking to him. Further than that, he felt a certain bond with him.

The past year had been hard on Jean. Not because of problems at home, or because pay-checks didn't match up. It wasn't that he sometimes couldn't eat. Sure, that sucked, but he was a bachelor. He didn't really care. The reason life had been hard on him was because he was hit with a sudden sense of uselessness. Jean had recently returned home after completing his fourth tour of duty in Afghanistan. He had left the Marine Corps as a specialist in the Armored Cavalry. He had not gone to college, and found that there weren't very many skills that he earned as a machine gun operator on a Stryker.

He had spent his time driving across the nation looking for the odd construction job before getting fired for showing up to work late. His absence was due to nightmares, but no one cared much to hear excuses so he didn't offer them. He had considered ending his empty, lonely life, and ultimately "adopted" his Trisha in order to make himself feel needed. A girlfriend would be even nicer, but he never stayed in one city long enough to properly court a woman.

The past hour had been the most meaningful experienced he had had in over a year. He saved a woman's life. Not only that, but he could help these people- seriously help them. They might have unwittingly saved his existence.

"Sir, if my dead mother saw me drive you to the nest city and drop you off, she would rise from her grave and smack me with her frying pan. I'll take you where it is you need to go."

"Honestly, we just need to-"

"What city did you say you were headed to?"

"Walla Walla," Roy shot back. Walla Walla was a city in Washington State. Roy was planting a trap.

"Walla Walla, Utah. Yeah, I have a cousin who lives there. See? I'm headed your way, anyhow."

"No, you don't. Listen, we really don't want to cause you any more trouble. Trust me when I say that you don't want to associate yourself with us." It was Roy's last ditch effort before submitting.

"Listen. The way I see it, I'll be damned by the Lord God if I drop an injured woman with a blood covered half-exhausted man in the middle of town without even a look back. I'm doing this for her, not you." The man looked at Jean and sighed in submission. Jean smiled in triumph and got an honest swell in his chest for doing what he knew to be right thing.

.

_**Square Dance **_**is copyrighted to Eminem and such.**


	6. Gz And Hustlas

**I did have computer issues. Unfortunately, those are not the reasons that this is late. The reason is simple. I am lazy. I am **_**horrendously**_ **lazy.** **I would vie to say that I am the laziest person that you have ever, and will ever, come across. I've had opportunities to write on this at various times throughout the week, and I've opted to do things like play Axis & Allies instead, as all of my video games are, um, gone, (sadsadsad Walrus) (except for my wii, which, let's face it, doesn't really count) so my apologies for this. Motivation in the form of reviews would help, by the way…**

_Gz And Hustlas_

Ed vowed that if one more rag headed punk-ass offered him a hit of coke, he was going to snap their neck. He never pretended that he was a man of honor. He knew that these thugs on the street were the bass line of his enterprise, but it didn't do anything to alive his disgust. These people… enjoyed this lifestyle. They lived for it, made songs glorifying it, taught it to their offspring.

He actually didn't know who he loathed more: the gangbanging lowlifes, or the valley limbic fueled dick brains. It was hard to tell. He had made a resolution to stay as far away from California in general. He had been forced to ignore that vow, however, by none other than Olivier Armstrong. Thanks to her, he was now looking for some God forsaken bus stop in the blazing sun that pelted his exposed skin like the Seattle "sunshine" that he was used to.

He missed the rain, honestly. He missed the terrible attitude that everyone in the Puget Sound area had. It was truly a magical place- not like New York, but neither like Wichita. Ney York was a big city, and everyone who hailed from was happy. They were in New York, after all. They pretended to be miserable assholes, of course, because that was customary. Wichita was the opposite. Barely large enough to call it a city, it almost had that small town feel to it. Once again, everyone was happy.

Seattle never had any of that. It was big, but not _that _big. Everyone was miserable. On a normal day that rain was pissing on its residents, just light enough to not warrant the use of the umbrella they carried. Just being in Seattle was not excuse enough to be happy, and it didn't help that they were blessed with the shittiest baseball team in their league. On a typical day the average Seattle resident had three things to complain about. The traffic, the Mariners and how they had just lost terrible to the angels, and the weather. Even on the days where the sun decided that it would risk a peek through its curtains, the citizens would then complain about the odd yellow ball in the sky.

Ed loved it.

Which brought him back to wondering why Olivier had insisted on meeting her in a neutral state, rather than in his Seattle or even her Chicago. _I suppose it doesn't really matter. Just find the place and get this over with. _He still needed to learn patience, and he knew it. _Just get this over with._

"He, you little runt, hold up." Little? Runt? Ed felt his skin warm with the heat of his blood. He forgot about the task at hand and the consequences of an overreaction, and instead focused at the horrible words that entered his ears. He wasn't sexist; he didn't care that the body who uttered such terrible words was feminine. Man or woman, he would teach them a thing or two about Napoleon complexes.

Jumping up in the air, he aimed a round house kick to the face. As his shoe made contact, the energy of the kick rebounded into his leg and sent him flying back to the ground, while the offender stood her ground perfectly.

"Cute, Mr. Elric, but that could land you in a one way vacation to the inner-city pen, if a cop had seen you." The smirk on Olivier's face caused Ed's cheeks to blush with embarrassment and anger.

"It wouldn't matter," he responded as he picked himself up. "I'm a minor. I'd be out faster than it would take them to get me in."

"Mr. Elric. _Little _Mr. Elric. These are California prisons we're talking about. A couple months are long enough for them to make you their bitch."

The color that had flushed into Ed's face now evaporated into pale white as he stood to his full height.

"I thought we had something to discuss, Olivier." Ed dusted himself off and glowered at Armstrong. Olivier nodded and started to walk off.

"Talk with me," she commanded. Ed starred for a moment before shaking his head and following in her footsteps.

* * *

When Riza awoke she found herself in soft bed, surrounded by pillows and comforters. Her arm ached, but it was the ache of healing. The room she was in was cool, the kind of cool that was brought by an air conditioner. It was, after all, the middle of summer. More than likely she was somewhere that was hot, though that didn't really narrow it down by much. Racking her memory, she couldn't think of where Roy had said they were off to. O course, she hadn't really been in the position to pay attention to what he said.

She was still fairly worn out. Al the excess energy she had was being directed to her shoulder, and her body begged her to stay in the welcoming arms of the bed.

Perhaps five more minutes.

* * *

"We really appreciate this, Gracia." Roy said as he helped her chop onions.

"I told you Roy, its fine. We would never close our doors to you, especially with your woman like she is." Gracia pushed the mess of potato skins into the garbage can and Roy smiled a tad bashfully.

"I wouldn't exactly call her _my _woman…"

"Of course not," she conceded with a small grin. "I just wish you would have called earlier. I could have had something already on the table, instead of enlisting you for the preparation."

The dish they were making was some sort of casserole that apparently was a delicacy of LDS culture. Roy was too exhausted from the activity in the days preceding to pick up on the light joke, but to him any type of real food would have been a delicacy. McDonalds BigMacs and gas station were wearing thin on his patients and growing fat on everything else.

"Don't worry about it. Life has been so frantic that it's nice to be able to sit down and help someone cook a meal."

"I just hate to be a bad host…"

"And I hate to be a bad guest," he countered. "Really, I don't mind." Roy started on the green onions. His knife eased back and forth, the monotonous task relaxing his nerves. When he has finished, he scooped them into a pile and looked to his old friend's wife to ask what to do with them. He saw the woman in front of him standing upright, apron on, with both of her hands on her hips, starring at him.

Gracia was not at all pleased with what she saw. She had know Roy for as long as she had known Hues, he had told her that I she got him then she got the whole package, but Roy had always had an arrogant and almost childish glint in his eyes. They now held nothing of the sort. Instead he looked tired. Not just his body, but his soul as well. There was a weight he carried on his shoulders that was far past his years.

She didn't know why he had shown up on her doorstep at one o' clock in the morning with a woman feminine figure draped across his shoulders. Something told her she didn't care to know, either. Maes had yet to return from his meetings. He would no doubt be in for a surprise. The only thing she could think to do was cook the three of them something to eat- they looked like they were about to keel over and die.

She knew that it wasn't her place to pry into his personal affairs. The problem she had was that there was a four year old child in their house. The last thing she wanted to do was to expose her Elicia to any danger that her husband's old friend might be dragging along with him.

Of course, she couldn't through him out. Not with _that_ look on his face.

"Gracia?"

"Huh? What?"

"Where do the onions go?" By his tone she could tell he was repeating himself. She felt slightly embarrassed for not hearing him the first time.

"In the pot. Actually, can you stir the mix? I'm going to go check on Elicia." Roy nodded and Gracia left upstairs. She walked through the unlit halls quietly and unsurely, and nearly tripped over block pile landmine. As gently as she could, she creaked the door open and made sure that her daughter hadn't woken. When Roy and the blond haired smoker knocked their way into her house keeping the volume low wasn't on the forefront of her mind.

Gracia saw Elicia quickly bring the covers over her face in a childish attempt to feign sleep. Gracia smiled softly and slowly walked up to the bed. Elicia was stubborn. She kept the blanket over her face hoping that her mother wouldn't realize that she was conscious. After sitting down on the mattress she gently pulled the covers down and brushed her fingers through the child's hair.

"I was asleep, Mommy," she said as innocently as possible.

"It's not appropriate to lie, Ellie." She could barely contain her amusement, let alone get angry with her little one. Nonetheless, she had to instill moral values in her.

"No, really, Mommy! I was asleep but then you kept on making too much noise." She looked like she would die of a broken heart if Gracia didn't believe her. Gracia couldn't express how much she loved this child.

"Honey, we're going to have some of Mommy and Daddies friends staying with us for a while. Are you all right with that?" Her daughter nodded her head eagerly.

"Like the nice blond lady next door?"

"You... talked with her?"

The child thrashed her head up and down with such enthusiasm that Gracia was half worried that she would give herself a concussion.

"Ya-huh! She told me that I have pwetty eyes, and she combed my hair!"

Not knowing the woman she had taken into her house it took a weight off her chest to hear Elica talk about her like that. Although she hadn't been aware that Miss Hawkeye had awoken.

"Time for bed, Ellie. Go to sleep."

Almost the moment Gracia trotted up her stairs, the pre-paid phone, which Roy had picked up from a Wal-Mart on the outskirts of Utah, started to buzz sporadically. Instinctively, the pulse of his nerves started to pick up. He had called a single number when he picked up the phone, which meant that the call could only belong to one person. He whipped the phone to his ear after snapping the call button.

"…Hello?" he questioned into the receiver.

"Edward Teach?" the voice quaked from the phone. The caller was using a disguised voice. It made the man sound like a protected witness who was anonymously appearing on the discovery channel.

"This is Black Beard."

"Temple Square, Carriage Rides. Be there by Twenty Three Hundred." The line disconnected and Roy checked the caller ID. As expected the line was encrypted, and the ID read as "RESTRICTED." This was the call he had been expecting. Despite this, he was concerned about the meeting. Normally he wouldn't have expected it to be a set up, but the past few days hadn't been even close to a normal situation. Roy knew firsthand how much intelligence agencies worked indirectly with "enterprises that weren't strictly legal." Hell, the connections he was using to survive were established in his years as an agent.

He also knew that the NSA in particular had a knack for setting unusually high bounties for targets that they either couldn't touch, or didn't want to touch. It was entirely likely that he was walking into a setup.

There wasn't much he could do about his doubt, however. Whether he wanted to or not, he had to follow through with this deal. The meeting would present him with twenty kilos of SEMTEX.

SEMTEX is a Czech made plastic explosive that is roughly twice as explosive as Trinitrotoluene, or TNT as it's more commonly known as. It is an odorless malleable substance that is virtually invisible to most conventional detection devices. Because of this, it is a favorite among terrorists and organized crime. About three pounds can level a two-story building, given the proper application. Roy knew that the purchase of the any military explosive on the scale of this deal was not something that would be overlooked. This made him even more nervous. On top of everything, Riza was seriously injured, and the last thing Roy wanted to do was go into a situation like this without any backup security.

Roy looked up to have the blue eyed Texan come into his vision.

"What?" Havoc questioned stupidly.

"You know how to use that shotgun in the back of your truck, right?"

"Are you fucking with me? It's a shotgun, not sniper rifle. A girly scout could use it." Roy grinned nervously at Havoc's response

"Want to have some fun?"

Three hours later Jean discoverer that Roy's description of fun seemed to be vastly different than his own. For Jean, "fun" when talking in the context of a shotgun would refer to waving the business end of the 12 gauge in the face of a couple of Mormon missionaries to give them a rattling, of which there were a ripe supply of in the great state of Utah. What it didn't include was standing security for some sort of deal that his buddies got themselves into. As much as he hated to admit it, this was not the first time doing so.

Not that he felt he was doing much as far as security in this situation. The two of them had driven to some forsaken street where a horse drawn carriage picked them up. (The carriage was, as the driver explained, so they didn't stand out. How that made sense, Havoc hadn't a clue.) From there they were taken to a warehouse in the industrial area of Salt Lake, and came face to face with the man that Roy was to make the deal with. Well, to be fair, face to face was not entirely accurate. Face to stomach fit the bill a bit better. The man was taller than a mountain, and had the build of a bull on HGH. Jean knew the limits of his Remington fairly well, and he was pretty sure it wasn't designed to stop an oncoming train. The monster didn't even bother to carry a side arm, which served to scare Havoc shitless even further.

"Edward!" the monster boomed. The sound of his voice was deep and rolled with a Schwarzeneggeresque accent.

"Alex?" Roy tone reeked of skepticism. "Where's Olivier? I was expecting her, not you."

"Ah, well Olivier is in Long Beach. Unfortunately something came up."

"You know I don't like changes of plans, Alex."

"And you know we don't like being lied to, Mr. Mustang." Alex's voice dropped an octave from its endearingly cheery temperament with the last accusation to a menacing baritone. The men starred each other down for what seemed like an eternity. Jean, on his part, had to admire Roy's resolve. His stare met Alex's head on.

Alex broke the standoff and visually relaxed, lightening the overall atmosphere.

"I'm no bounty hunter, Edward. We made a deal, and you know me to be a man of my honor." Havoc's grip on the Remington relaxed, as did everyone else.

"No harm, no foul. I suppose I don't have much to complain about. I'm just a bit on edge, I suppose."

"It comes with the business. Now, out with this merchandise! It makes me nervous to cart around this much blowgum!"

The following half hour was the laborious process of business. The product had to be tested. The down payment of cash had to be placed. Money was transferred electronically. Small talk was made. Havoc was somewhat amused at how normal it was. It was practically the same process as purchasing an automobile.

Despite the lax feel of it all, Havoc never took his finger off the trigger.

After the finishing touches were made, Roy and Alex shook hands to unofficial close the agreement. Roy slid his coat on and flipped his scarf around his neck as Alex capped his head with an inky black bowler hat. Roy turned for the carriage when Alex opened his mouth one more time.

"I suppose I have to report you to the authorities now." Roy froze in place and Jean stared for a moment. After the moment freeze of consciousness, Jean raised the shotgun to his shoulder. Before he could squeeze a round off, however, Alex's paw pulled the gun from Jean's grasp, and snapped it in two. The way he placed it in each of his hand and twisted made it look like a cheap toy store one would buy at the super market.

"What happens now?" Roy questioned.

"Nothing. You go on like normal, and do whatever it is that you're doing. I know Bradley is corrupt as Iranian government. I'll overlook this as long as you don't mention this exchange to my sister."

Roy nodded cautiously. Neither had any idea what was happening, but both knew one thing. They were alive, and that was almost more than they could have asked for.

**So, true to my promise, I am going to finish this. This read a bit disjointedly. That's because I took a two month or so hiatus in the middle of writing it, due to a case of surprise writers block. I, however, need to finish this before I take anything else on, so I will do exactly that. **


End file.
